Can I Take You Home?
by BattyCore
Summary: This is a thing with words in it that I wrote, exciting shit here.


**This is my Secret Santa gift for the lovely bitchesbetrippinballs over yander on tumblr~ I'm going to shut up about this and just post it because ksldjbfglskdf so ye, happy holidays, friend! :D**

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You watch the people around you with mild interest. The music pumps through your body as you watch them dance. You want to dance too, but your… "date," if you could call him that, isn't much of a dancer.

You look over at him and he's standing there against the bar, twiddling the straw in his drink and watching the crowd, just like you are. You know he's only here because you want to be.

He's always doing stuff like that, going out of his way just to make you happy. You appreciate it, but part of you can't help but to feel like you're taking advantage of him sometimes.

You… you do stuff for him, but you can't help but feel like it's not enough. It's in your nature, you suppose, to feel worthless, but he treats you like you're precious. You almost feel like you _owe _him.

Maybe you should do something to make _him_ happy.

"Hey, Craig?" you ask. He turns his attention to you, like he always does when you talk. You get closer to him, close enough to talk quietly in his ear. "It's so loud in here, why don't we go somewhere a little less crowded?" you say.

He nods, so you take his hand and lead him away from the bar, abandoning your drinks. You won't be needing them anymore.

You lead him to a hallway, just outside the main club room. You lean against the wall and you can feel the bass vibrating through your body. You fucking love bass, it makes you shiver just listening to it.

You play with Craig's fingers in your hand and look up at him through your lashes. You're giving him the _look_, but you don't think he gets it.

He's always been pretty dense, but come on. You're both tipsy, in a near-secluded hallway, you're staring up at him, and he doesn't know what you're trying to get at here. Maybe you should just _show_ him.

"Craig," you say, your voice low as you pull him closer to yourself. You put his hands on your hips and wrap your arms around his neck. You see his wary eyes, but you kiss him anyway.

You might be "just friends," but this was bound to happen eventually. You're Kenny McCormick for Christ's sake.

You know he's uncomfortable with sexuality. You know he's uncomfortable with closeness and intimacy. You know he's not used to this kind of thing. You know he has a lot of issues with letting this happen, but you think maybe, just maybe, you're enough to pull him out of his shell. The way he treats you, the way he looks at you, the way he talks to you, you've always had a feeling there's something more there. He just won't let himself feel it.

"Relax," you say, your lips bushing against his. "You can trust me…" You look into his eyes as sincerely as you can. He stares back at you and you can see the gears turning in his head as he thinks, his nerves slowly unraveling. He's trying to convince himself that he can trust you, that this won't end badly.

You hope to God he can trust you, because you mean it. You're not going to hurt him; not the way you know he's been hurt in the past.

You smile as he leans back in to kiss you. It's hesitant and a little awkward at first, but you can feel him melt into you as he slowly starts to give himself over to what he's feeling.

You wait for him to move at his own pace, you're doing this for him after all. For both of you, you realize. But you're patient, and his inexperience is cute, so you let the slow kisses drag you along. It feels nice.

He opens his mouth and yours opens automatically, but he speaks instead of what you were expecting. "I don't really know what I'm doing… so tell me if I'm doing it wrong," he says. One of his hands has made its way up to your face and he's stroking your cheek lightly with his thumb.

You laugh a little, airy where you didn't realize he already had you breathless. "Okay," you agree, and you're more than happy when he kisses you again.

He claims your mouth and you moan quietly when his tongue brushes against yours. He tastes like beer, but then again so do you.

…but then again, you don't care. You're enjoying this a lot more than you thought you would. You can only hope he's enjoying it too.

You can feel the bass pulsing through you as he kisses you thoroughly and you heart rate skitters and spikes. You make a bit of a helpless noise and press closer to him, guiding his tongue with your own where he seems to stumble.

His mouth leaves yours and you whine when his lips touch your neck. Your head drops back to give him room to work with and another shiver runs down your spine as he trails hot kisses all along the flesh you've given him.

Your hand sinks to his chest, the other fisting into his hair as he wraps his arms around your waist. It starts to get a little too warm where your bodies meet and you blame it entirely on his mouth on your throat. He might only be guessing but every kiss, nip, suck, lick, each one is driving you closer and closer to madness.

He nibbles on your jaw and you whimper, gripping his hair tight. You start to squirm the more he kisses you, the longer he sucks on your skin. It's driving you crazy, you want more… but will he let you?

You hear him mutter something that sounds like _I'm sorry_ but you can't really understand. "What?" you ask your breath catching in your throat as you realize it was nothing more than another moan.

"I gave you a hickey," he says, teasing your collar bone with his teeth. "So I said I was sorry."

The idea of his mark on your body makes you shudder.

He presses you against the wall and kisses you again, his mouth consuming yours. You can tell he's getting more confident and all you want is for him to take control, dominate you completely up against that wall and make you forget what your own name is. You can already barely remember it; all your brain can think is _Craig Craig Craig Craig Craig_…

And then you remember, as his knee slips between your thighs, that you're supposed to be doing this for _him_, not the other way around.

"Goddamn it, Craig," you say, but your words are muffled a bit by his tongue. He doesn't stop, so you push against his chest until he does. You stare at each other, both panting and faces flushed pink. Fuck, he looks good.

"I… I want to take care of you," you say quietly. There's more meaning behind those words than you realized, but you mean it. His brow furrows and you see that he doesn't understand what you mean. That might be a good thing, you think. You wouldn't want to scare him off with too strong emotions.

"Let's go back to your place," you say, and he smiles. You can see that he's happy, but your mind is too muddled with your arousal and sudden rush of feelings to be able to tell if it's because you're going to be alone together or if he knows he's making you feel good.

Either way, he's happy, and that's enough for you to pull him out the front doors and down the street. His apartment is only a few blocks down, and you're there in less than 20 minutes.

As soon as he gets the door open, you're pushing him back onto this bed and climbing on top of him. As much as you'd like for him to be the one on top of you, you want him to take care of him more. You want to make him feel good, do something more for him than just take his kindness for granted.

You peel off your shirt and lean down to kiss him again. It's slow, like the first few were, but so much more intense. You're not sure how far this is going to go, or how it's going to end, but you don't care. As long as you're with him and he's happy, you don't care about anything.


End file.
